


Manners, manners

by Defira



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Imprisonment, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, how Emma and Hook continue to show how bad they are at being courteous to one another, even after helping one another in the struggle to return to Storybrooke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“So, Miss Swan,” Hook drawled, leaning back against the wall, casual as you please, “my sources tell me that when a young man and a young woman partake in one of these _movies_ together, it’s to be considered a sign of courtship in this world.”

“We are _not_ courting,” Emma said, leaning forward in her chair to change the angle of the television slightly. “Nobody even says courtship anymore. Not unless they’re from the nineteen fifties.”

“Is that so?” She could almost hear the smug grin on his face, stupid jerk. He seemed to take everything she said as a challenge these days. “What about landlocked pirate captains from other realms? Are they allowed to say courtship?”

She shrugged, making an effort to appear indifferent to his needling. “You can say courtship to your heart’s content, doesn’t bother me.” She picked up the tub of popcorn she’d made for him and slid it towards the cell, glancing back at him as she did so. “Here.”

From the bed at the back of the cell, he raised his arms as if in despair. “What, no room service Miss Swan?”

“That’s _Sheriff_ Swan to you,” she said, taking a handful of popcorn from her own bowl. 

“And they say romance is dead.” He sighed somewhat dramatically, and she heard the bed creak as he stood up. His shoes scuffed against the concrete floor, and she saw his arm on the edge of her peripheral as he reached for the bowl. “So considerate of you, Sheriff. I doubt there’d be a lawmaker in any of the realms who would go to so much trouble for the sake of one lowly prisoner.”

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll muzzle you.” 

“ _Ooh, feisty._ ” She jumped at the whisper that came from right behind her, spilling popcorn in the process. Hook was pressed up against the bars, somehow managing to look both casual and threatening as he smiled down at her. “Is it always this easy to press your buttons, Sheriff?”

“Sit your ass down, Killian,” she said, raising her voice as she rose to her feet. 

Something flickered in his eyes, something dark and ugly and broken. “I told you not to call me that,” he said sharply. He straightened angrily, his knuckles white where he gripped the popcorn bowl. 

She made an exaggeratedly innocent face, blinking at him. “Oh goodness, have I unnerved the fearsome Captain Hook?” 

He sneered at her and lurched back to the cot bed, slumping down on it only to glare darkly at her. “Just let’s get your fool movie out of the way,” he snapped.

Emma stared at him for a moment longer, trying to gauge what exactly about his own name bothered him so- after all, he’d introduced himself by his given name when they’d first met all those weeks ago in the enchanted realm. His scornful expression revealed nothing, so she shrugged again. “Whatever. At least I’m not leaving you locked alone in the dark.”

She hit play on the DVD player, and over the opening music nearly missed him mutter “Miss Swan, that would be _infinitely_ preferable.”

She grimaced, but didn’t turn around. Easier to pretend she hadn’t heard.

The TV in the Sheriff’s office wasn’t great- it had to be at least fifteen years old, but who knew with the curse? Maybe it had been sitting around for decades- but it got the job done. The sound crackled a little from the ageing speakers, and she reached forward to turn it down a little. The little Disney castle burst into light, and she tried to relax; it was difficult, with a pirate glowering at her back as if he hoped she would catch fire, and nothing but the uncomfortable metal folding office chairs to sit on. 

_An attractive pirate_ , her subconscious whispered.

She swatted the thought away almost faster than it formed, stuffing her face with popcorn and scowling. It didn’t matter how attractive he was- or wasn’t! -, she wasn’t interested in murderous pirates with a homicidal agenda. Especially not murderous pirates with a homicidal agenda who were currently her prisoner and who bore a significant grudge against her. That seemed to be a recipe for disaster all by itself, and that wasn’t even taking into account her disastrous track record with love.

He shifted about irritably while the introductory scenes played in the Darling house; they’d barely gone five minutes into the film before she heard him huff out a breath in frustration. “Problem, Hook?”

“Oh, what could I possibly have a problem with?” he said caustically. She rolled her eyes, recognising the taunting tone to his voice again. “It’s not like I’m far from my lands, far from my crew and my ship, locked up by the most irritating woman in any of the realms, forced to watch-” He struggled for words and she risked glancing back at him. “Whatever this nonsense is, for your amusement. It’s not like you’ve denied me the right to my vengeance, and humiliated me at every given opportunity.”

“I haven’t humiliated you at every given opportunity,” she said offhandedly, even as his words cut at her slightly. “It’s not like you’re sitting in there naked.”

He attempted a mocking bow, which given his position seated on the bed wasn’t all that successful. “For which you have my eternal gratitude and loyalties, of course.”

She stared him down. “Just watch the movie,” she said, stuffing another piece of popcorn into her mouth. 

“But of course, my dear Sheriff,” he drawled, making her roll her eyes again. 

She’d just settled in again, feet propped up against the desk and her back halfway comfortable in the cheap metal chair when she heard him fidgeting again. 

“So when do we get to see the movie that makes a mockery of your life, Princess?”

The popcorn in her lap went spilling to the floor. “Don’t call me that!” she snarled, at the bars in seconds. Hook was slouched on the bed, and that mocking smile was back in place, threatening and casual all in one. “Don’t call me princess.”

He made a ridiculous show of looking surprised, even covering his mouth with his hand. “Oh goodness, have I upset the dearly beloved prophesized princess? How careless of-”

“You shut your mouth Hook!” she snapped, grabbing at the bars and releasing them a moment later when she realised how telling her reaction was. Stepping back from the bars, she carefully smoothed her hands down the front of her jacket. Her palms were sweaty, and she hoped it was too dark in the room for him to notice the colour in her cheeks. “Don’t ever call me that again.”

“Whyever not? Your parents are royalty, and everyone knows of the prophecy that you would be the one to break the curse and bring balance back to-”

“ _Stop it_ ,” she said, her hands clenching into fists and then flexing out again.

He smirked. “Problem, Sheriff?”

“You can’t get under my skin,” she said; she fought to stop her lip from trembling. “I know you’re used to being the big bad pirate captain, and letting your reputation do all the work for you, but I’m not interested. You aren’t going after Gold-”

“Rumplestiltskin,” he hissed, smiling as he did so.

“While I have any say in the matter,” she finished, ignoring the gleam in his eyes at the mention of his nemesis. “So you just shut your mouth, keep quiet, and stop trying to bait me. I’m not interested in taking any crap from you.”

“Oh, what a _shame_ ,” he said with exaggerated sympathy. “How cruel of me, to taunt you so; where are my manners? Oh, that’s right; I don’t _have_ any because I’m just a big bad _pirate_.”

Emma spun on her heel and stalked over to her desk, scooping up her handbag from under the chair. 

He frowned at her. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer, instead heading for the door. 

“Wait a minute.” He sat up, looking between her and the television, which was still merrily playing coloured pictures of annoying children. “Where are you going?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m going to get a drink from Granny’s,” she said, tucking the strap over her shoulder. 

“You can’t do that!” There was a hint of panic in his voice. “You can’t just leave me here!”

She stopped in the doorway. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you not realise how jail works?” She folded her hands elegantly before her. “The point of jail is that you can’t leave, but I can. See, you can’t exactly go anywhere because you’re stuck in a cell.”

“I know how a cell works!” he snarled. “If you’re going to abandon me here to rot, make this wretched thing stop blasting sound at me!”

“Mm, that would hardly be fair of me would it?” She nearly smirked, but managed to contain it. “Leaving you here, all alone, desperately lonely, with no entertainment or anything to keep you occupied?”

She pushed the door open with her shoulder, allowing herself to smirk at the calls of “Emma! _Emma!_ You get back here! Don’t you leave me here with this! How do I make it stop making noise? _Emma!_ ”

Maybe she’d sit and enjoy her drink at the diner, instead of getting takeaway. Maybe see if they had any cake left; Granny did a mean tea cake, after all. 

“ _Emma!_ ”

Her smile widened. Yeah, that seemed like just the thing to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written after 2.06
> 
> I wasn't exactly expecting this to a) be so popular or b) turn into more than a one shot, but I guess circumstances change? We'll see where this next chapter takes us, I suppose!

The diner was nearly empty, for which she was grateful. Music was playing quietly in the background- it sounded like Springsteen- and rain was pattering softly against the window. She tugged off her jacket, brushing off the spare splatters of water that had made it past the heavy garment and onto her clothes.

Ruby was wiping down a table, hips swaying as she mouthed silently along to the music, and she looked up with a smile when the door chime jangled. “Hey, darlin’,” she called, tucking the rag into the front of her apron- which, Emma noted with a wry smile, was longer than the skirt she was wearing underneath it. “You holding up okay?”

Ready for the question, Emma made a vague sort of smile and braced her hands on her hips. “Yeah,” she said slowly, glancing around to see who was in hearing range, “all things considered, not bad.”

The answer wasn’t particularly vague, but it wasn’t exactly unambiguous either. Ruby picked up on it immediately, her gaze sharper than it had been a moment ago. She smiled brightly, but she was attentive. “Pirate troubles?”

Emma made a non-committal sort of face. “You could say that,” she said.

Ruby stared at her for a second longer, her expression shrewd, but didn’t dig; Emma nearly sighed in relief. “So, what can I getchya?” Ruby said brightly.

“Cake. Pie. Cake and pie.” Emma dug her fingers into her scalp, feeling the ache in her head. “Something sweet and piled with cream and ice cream and sugar.”

Ruby curtseyed. “One serve of pumpkin pie coming right up!”

Giving her an awkward sort of thumbs up, Emma trailed slowly towards the back and slumped down into an empty booth. Given that there were only two other occupied tables in the entire diner, she wasn’t exactly out of options. 

It was nice to have that sort of freedom in at least one, tiny part of her life. She closed her eyes and drooped. Relaxed was the wrong word, because she didn’t know if she’d ever be relaxed ever again. She was too exhausted for that.

A plate slid in front of her, and she cracked an eye open, nodding wearily to Ruby. The waitress smiled and scrunched her nose at her, before sashaying back to the counter and leaving her in peace.

Emma had barely shovelled the first forkful into her mouth when the bell over the door tinkled. She didn’t bother looking up until the footsteps drew closer.

Mary Margaret slipped off her wet jacket and slid into the booth across from her, nodding to the plate on the table. “Is that really the best thing to be eating for dinner?”

Emma snorted in amusement, and when she’d finished her mouthful said “You know, I was gonna do the whole teenage brat ‘ _you’re not my mom!_ ’ joke, but that’s terribly redundant now. I’ll just go with I’m an adult, and I’ve had a crappy day, and I’ll eat what I want.”

Her mother- that still felt weird- half nodded in agreement. “Well, I can’t say I’m exactly blameless when it comes to substituting proper meals with baked goods,” she said. “Sometimes a slab of cake is the only thing that’s going to get you through the day.”

She grunted in response. “So what are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, actually,” Mary Margaret said, tugging her scarf off and tucking it onto the seat beside her. “I went by the jail and came across a very impolite gentleman who wasn’t particularly keen on helping me so much as he was on destroying the television set.”

Emma smirked and kept on eating.

“Peter Pan, Emma? Really?”

“Could be worse,” Emma said around a mouthful of pie. “Could’ve put on Hook, that one with Dustin Hoffman. Or I could have put on the Disney sequel, I heard that was awful.”

Mary Margaret sighed. “Is baiting Hook really a good idea right now, Emma? We don’t need someone else holding a knife at our backs.”

“How can Hook possibly be a problem if I’ve got him locked up in jail?”

“Well, one could argue that this isn’t the first time you’ve locked him up only for it to turn around and bite you on the ass,” her mother said pointedly.

“No one is biting my ass,” Emma said quickly, feeling her cheeks flame and hoping her mother wasn’t paying attention. The last thing she needed was someone putting ideas in her head about Hook and-

“Doesn’t matter any way,” she said, trying to cover her momentary self-consciousness. “Hook is locked up, and this time he’s staying locked up. It’s not like it’s a big deal.”

“It sort of is a big deal when the last person who had a vendetta against Gold was safely tucked away in there and nearly devoured by a wraith,” Mary Margaret said pointedly.

Emma stuffed more of the pie into her mouth. “Gold doesn’t have any more wraiths,” she said, the words garbled by the food.

“Okay then, how about the fact that you spend all your time sitting at the jail babysitting Hook instead of helping us to look for Henry-”

The fork cracked loudly against the plate. “We both know Henry went with Regina willingly,” Emma said, stabbing at the scraps of the pie with more force than was probably necessary. A piece of pastry went skittering off the plate; Mary Margaret picked it up and toyed with it, letting the crumbs fall onto the table top. “God only knows why, but if he trusts her, we have to hope he’s right to do so.”

“Okay, so that discounts Regina,” Mary Margaret conceded. “That still leaves Gold and Hook-”

“Gold is a problem, Hook isn’t. He isn’t exactly going anywhere.”

“We can’t _trust_ Hook,” Mary Margaret said pointedly.

Emma threw her fork down. “I feel like we can’t trust _anyone_ around here. Do you treat everyone like they’re a threat?”

“How exactly is that any different to how you were living your life before you got here? If memory serves you weren’t exactly a bubble of sunshine yourself.”

“What, so you’re going to criticize how I adapted to survive twenty eight years by myself? It’s not like I had a lot of other options!” The diner had gone silent, and Emma looked up to see the handful of faces turned towards her. She resisted the urge to scream in frustration. “You know what?” she said, putting her fork down on the plate and gathering her things. “We’ve had this argument, and we’ve gone around in circles every time. There’s no point to going over it again tonight.”

“ _Emma_ ,” Mary Margaret said tiredly.

She threw a few notes on the counter. “Thanks for the pie, Ruby,” Emma said, ignoring her mother.

Ruby clearly looked uncomfortable, glancing between the two women. “Anytime,” she said, looking hopelessly to Snow as if waiting for a nudge to try and stop her.

There was silence as Emma collected her coat from beside the door, winding her scarf back into place before pulling open the door. The wind gusted at her and she staggered slightly, knocking her hip against the frame; but she righted herself and squinted against the freezing sprinkle of rain. It was just enough to dampen her face, and just enough to be completely unpleasant.

With a sigh, she stuffed her hands deep into her pockets, bowed her head and marched smartly down the street as quickly as possible.

She did not see the shadow that separated itself from the far side of the street and set off after her.

***

She could hear the music playing as she opened the front door to the office; more than that, she could hear Hook cussing loudly, and she winced at some of the profanities directed at her.

“Finally!” His voice was furious, and she could practically feel the hate radiating off of him as she entered the room. “Make this _bloody thing_ stop squawking at me, and let me out of this bloody cage!”

She set her bag down on the table and came close enough to flick the power off on the television set. “You know I can’t do that, Hook,” she said.

He was pacing so furiously she was surprised he hadn’t worn grooves in the floor. “Well, then, that’s a problem, sweetheart, because I wasn’t asking you, I was telling you-”

“You can’t order me around, Hook,” she snapped. “I’m not one of your little peons, and you aren’t the biggest fish in the pond around here. And I told you to stop calling me sweetheart.”

“’ _Told you to stop calling me sweetheart_ ’,” he said, doing a terrible impersonation of her. The venom in his voice made her wince, and she turned away so that he wouldn’t see it. “Let me out of this goddamn rat trap, Emma, or so help me-”

“And I already-”

“ _Stop interrupting me!_ ” The violence in the shout shocked her into silence and he visibly struggled to get himself back under control. She was exceedingly grateful for the bars between them. “Where do you get off on all this, Princess? Dictating to others how they’re going to live their lives, making sure you get your happy little ending.”

“I _do not_ ,” she said hotly, “I do not dictate to others how to live their lives- but I am the sheriff of this town and that comes with certain responsibilities. Like making harsh decisions. Nothing more to it than that. ”

“Oh really?” he said snidely. “So I’m just _imagining_ everybody bowing and scraping to you, am I? I’m just _imagining_ you chaining me up in a giant’s lair-”

“I said I was sorry for that-”

“Like hell you did! You decided that coming home to play happy families was more important than letting me have my vengeance!”

“Milah is _dead_ , Killian, and throwing yourself at Rumplestiltskin isn’t going to change that-”

“But since when has it been your place to decide that for me?” he roared. “My god, lass, do you _hear_ yourself? If our positions were reversed and I had been the one to end up with the compass, and I locked you up and said ‘ _sorry, love, but your Henry will just have to do right by himself for a little while longer, ta-ta_ ’ and sodding _left you there_ , you would have strung me up by my gizzards at the first opportunity!”

She was at the bars, and she didn’t quite remember stepping that close. “I couldn’t take the chance that you weren’t working with Cora!” she said angrily. “It’s not like you would have taken the chance on me if you thought I was in Gold’s pocket!”

He laughed bitterly, but stopped abruptly. “You aren’t seriously suggesting that you’re working for that bastard, now, are you sweetheart?”

“For god’s sake, stop with the endearments!”

“Well then answer my question, _Miss Swan_ , are you working with Gold?”

The darkness in his eyes made her swallow uncomfortably. “Yeah, well, I owe him a favour,” she said, hating herself for it. She didn’t regret the gesture itself- nothing could compare to the relief at making sure Ashley had been able to keep her son. But owing Gold a favour, knowing who and what he was, knowing the magnitude of what she had agreed to now?

Yeah, it wasn’t a great feeling.

“It was to save a life,” she continued, hoping to pre-empt the flood of anger she knew had to be coming. She wasn’t fast enough.

He roared and lunged at the bars, trying to grab at her; she only just stumbled backwards in time out of reach. “ _By all the bloody-_ ” He cut himself off with great difficulty, swearing violently under his breath. “And so, what? You keep me here at his command until he’s in the mood to saunter down and finish me off? I am at not just at your mercy, but at his?”

“It’s not like that,” she insisted, but he wasn’t listening.

“Why wait, then, Princess? Why toy with me? Let’s have it out! Let him come down and kill me now, it’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel!”

She tried to creep a little closer again. “Hook, please, it’s not like that-”

“Is that my scarf?” he said suddenly, his voice incredulous.

Surprised, she glanced down, to see the scrappy black fabric peeking out from the collar of her jacket. She must not have tucked it out of sight when she’d left the diner. “Yeah, it’s the one from the beanstalk,” she said warily, completely perplexed by his sudden change of mood.

“Fascinating,” he said, sounding anything but, then looked over her shoulder. “Do it now, if you please.”

Something came crashing down on her head; she tried to turn at the last moment and the blow caught her across the temple. She slumped to the floor, her eyes rolling back into her head.

Hook smiled slowly, a magnificent grin cracking over his face. “Mr Smee,” he said, “how delightful it is to see you again.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written after 2.06

Neither of them wasted a moment; she’d scarcely hit the floor before they were moving again. “I came as soon as I had the chance, Captain,” Smee said, setting the lamp back down on the desk. “There’s far too many people on edge in this town for me to be taking risks.”

“Worried about taking risks?” Hook asked, pacing back and forth impatiently in the cell. “This land has made you soft, Smee.”

He winced at the jab. “Begging your pardon, Captain, but of the two of us I’ve probably got a better idea of what will keep us safe here.” He knelt down beside Emma’s unconscious form and dug around in her pockets for the keys to the office. “I have spent twenty eight years here, after all.” He discarded her car keys and finally dug out the thicker key ring with the Sheriff’s keys attached.

Hook raised a hand in front of his face as Smee approached. “You smell like you haven’t bathed in any of those twenty eight years either.”

Smee made a face as he fumbled at the lock. “I’ve not exactly been living on the better side of the law,” he said, letting out a shaky sigh of relief as the key finally turned noisily. The door creaked as it swung open and Hook stalked from the cell, snatching the keys from the lock and jangling the ring in his hand. He paused beside Emma, looking down at her with an unreadable expression on his face. She was face down on the floor, unmoving. 

With the toe of his boot, Hook nudged at her until she rolled over; admittedly, he was not particularly gentle. There was blood oozing from her temple, where Smee had struck her with the lamp. Swearing under his breath, Hook said “Find something to clean that up, will you?”

“Captain?”

“She’s bleeding, fool. We can’t very well leave it all over the floor to alert everyone to what’s happened.” 

“… with all respect, Captain, why don’t we just run and leave her here?”

“Smee,” Hook said, throwing an arm around his shoulders in a friendly manner- and tightening, until he nearly had him in a headlock. “Smee, Smee, Smee. My dear Smee. You have been away from your dear Captain for too long, I see. I’m rather disappointed that you would think it appropriate to question me when I’ve given you an order.”

Smee tried to shove off his arm, to rather poor effect. “Apologies, Captain!” he rasped. “It would just be easier if we-”

“If we leave our dear Miss Swan here on the floor, Mr Smee, either she will be found unconscious on the floor, and the alarm will be raised, or she will come to at some time in the near future and raise the alarm herself. Now, do either of those options sound preferable, Mr Smee?”

Smee clawed at his arm and gasped “Not really, Captain!”

Hook let him go, shoving him slightly as he did, so that Smee ended up on his knees. “Very good,” Hook said, stepping around him and squatting by Emma’s head. “Now, fetch me something for the blood, and while you’re up, be a good man and see if they’ve stowed my personal effects anywhere.”

The fat man scampered off, keys clinking noisily as he ran. Hook watched him go, and then glanced back down at Emma. He reached down and brushed her hair away from the wound, fingers lingering perhaps a fraction of a second longer than they needed to. They ran down the side of her face to her jaw, to where the black scarf now bunched beneath her chin and stood in stark prominence against her skin. For a tiny moment, something changed in his expression.

But it was gone as quickly as it came, and he snatched his hand away with something more akin to a sneer on his face. He looked disdainfully at the blood on his finger tips and smeared it on his pants just as Smee came panting back around the corner. 

“They, ah, had a first aid kit round the back,” he said absently, juggling a number of items in his arms. He fell to his knees beside Hook rather awkwardly, dumping the supplies on the ground between them. He held up a strange tube. “This is an antiseptic cream, it’ll help with-”

“A healing balm. Fine.” Hook took it from him, tearing it open with his teeth. He promptly spat the torn piece onto the floor. “Bloody hell, that is disgusting.” 

Smee laughed nervously. “Yeah, well, I’m yet to come across a chemical cream that did taste like a breakfast spread.”

Hook managed to get a dollop of white goo onto his hand, and smeared it on the side of Emma’s head. “This land has left you a little cracked in the head, my friend,” he said, concentrating on the rough first aid. “I doubt you’ve made a lick of sense since you walked in here.”

“I, uh, thank you?”

“Pleasure,” he said, finishing the job as best he could and tossing the tube of foul goo back onto the pile. “Anything else? What else does one do for injuries in this land?”

“We can just put this on, it’s a bandaid.” Smee tried to nudge him out of the way, a strange square of fabric in his hand, but Hook held his arm out to stop him. “Please, Captain, it’s not the sort of thing you do one handed.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, snatching the fabric from his hands. It immediately stuck to his fingers. “Well now, that’s interesting.”

“I tried to warn you, Captain.”

“Not to worry,” Hook said, manoeuvring his fingers deftly until he was unstuck. “I’m yet to see my things, so I’ll thank you to go and fetch them now.”

Smee looked like he wanted to object again, but with a sigh he struggled to his feet and went dashing off again out of sight. Hook resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The man was loyal, if nothing else- and it was good to have crew at his back once more. 

Glancing back to Emma, he eyed the side of her head and tried to size up the dressing against the wound. Holding her hair to the side with his bad arm, he carefully laid the bandage against her skin; it clung almost instantly. “Impressive,” he muttered, wiping his hand of excess balm. From towards the back of the office he could hear banging and cursing, and he glanced in Smee’s general direction once. When he did not appear, Hook looked back down to Emma.

She was remarkably still, but her breathing was steady enough- he held his hand above her mouth to feel for the gentle puff of air against his palm, just to check. As her warm breath curled against his skin, he shivered, a tiny tremor running down his spine. He snatched his hand away and scowled, rolling his shoulders to dispel the feeling. 

“You are a curiosity Miss Swan,” he murmured, casting a careful look at length of her. There was nothing particularly remarkable about her- she was an attractive woman, to be sure, but he’d had attractive woman in droves. She was stubborn, but again, he’d broken stubborn men and women before. “The prophesized princess who claims to want nothing to do with such madness, yet you go out of your way to defend this sad little town and its inhabitants.”

And she was wearing his scarf. That was interesting.

“Captain!” At Smee’s call he tucked his hand carefully away from Emma and made sure to not look particularly interested in their unconscious captive. “Captain, sir, I have it!”

He came back around the corner with his arms full once more, the most obvious item being his leather jacket. “Now there’s a sight for sore eyes,” he said, standing and taking the coat eagerly. 

“The rest of it’s here too, Captain, including…”

He held up the wicked curve of silver, the metal gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

“Oh, Mr Smee,” Hook said, almost reverentially, “you are far too kind.”

He took the hook, a sigh of something akin to pleasure passing his lips as he felt the cold, hard curve between his fingers once more. With the skill that only comes from a long established habit, he slid the hook into the custom brace on the end of his arm.

“Ahh,” he said, feeling the final lock click into place. A deep sense of satisfaction filled him as he looked fondly upon his namesake. “Now that’s much more like it.”

“What’s our move then, Captain?” Smee asked, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

He glanced across at the shorter man. “We’ll need to take Miss Swan with us to avoid alerting anyone of my escape for as long as possible,” he said. “The last thing I want is for this Gold fellow to learn I’m on the loose.”

“But where are we to take her?”

Hook smiled broadly at him, all teeth- the same way a predator bares their teeth in warning. “Why, Mr Smee, you’re the current resident of this realm, surely that should be your area of expertise! After all, your skill is finding things, is it not? Find us a place to hide, something we can fortify and claim as our own.”

Smee blinked at him several times, looking somewhat shell shocked. “Oh! Oh, um, of course! Whatever you say, Captain!”

“I trust you’ve a plan, then,” he said, kneeling back beside Emma. “Pass me those handcuffs, would you please?”

“Uh…” Smee sounded less than enthusiastic about the prospect but handed them over. “My best bet would be to take her car…” 

“Marvellous,” Hook said, easing his more lethal arm underneath Emma with great care. With his free hand he latched the cuffs around one hand, and then the other, locking her arms together before her. “I’ve no idea what a car is, but I’ll trust your judgement on the matter.”

“Oh, it’s one of those moving contraptions you would have seen zipping along outside.”

“Ah, those.” With her hands secured, he slipped his other arm beneath her and grunted as he levered himself to his feet with Emma grasped firmly to his chest. This close, it was rather impossible to escape her scent- nothing overly floral and dainty for Sheriff Swan, oh no. Just the hint of her soap, and the barest whisper of… cinnamon?

Oh bloody hell, he was sniffing Emma Swan’s hair like some perverted teenager. 

He straightened immediately, clearing his throat and doing his best to look like he hadn’t paused to catch a whiff of the Sheriff. Thankfully, Smee was preoccupied tidying up their mess, namely taking care of the few spots of blood that had hit the floor in the brief altercation. 

They made sure to turn off the lights as they left, straightening the furniture and returning everything to the first aid cabinet. The cell was tidied and closed up again, and the front door to the office was carefully locked behind them; in all, it looked just as if the Sheriff had finished her business for the night and headed home. 

In theory, no one would be able to tell otherwise. 

In truth, they missed an absolutely vital step.

Neither of them thought to check the lamp for blood. 

***

Emma was aware of pain before she was aware of anything else. Everything ached, but her head _throbbed_ ; it felt like it was splitting open, the skin parting as the pain tore her head apart. 

She moaned, and the sound was agonising; it woke her a little more, dragging her from the depths of unconsciousness to something a little closer to waking. 

“A good evening to you, Miss Swan,” came a voice that was disgustingly too chipper. She groaned again as the noise ricocheted around inside her head. “Or, by my count, I suspect I should be saying good morning.”

“Ugh, sweet baby Jesus, stop _shouting_ ,” she rasped. The words came out quite muffled, and she slowly became more aware of her surroundings. She was face down on a springy surface and remarkably uncomfortable; her hands were trapped underneath her, pressing into her stomach, and they appeared to have gone to sleep some time ago. She felt vaguely nauseas, sort of sea sick, almost. And her head was most definitely trying to kill her.

With great difficulty she cracked open one of her eyes- and didn’t precisely see a lot. It was dark, and her hair was in the way. Gritting her teeth she lifted her head slightly, peering through the curtain of her hair.

“You son of a bitch,” she said hoarsely, finally recognising the back seat of her VW. That explained the motion sickness at least. “The hell did you do to me, Hook?”

He tsked loudly. “Now now, Miss Swan, I was simply reciprocating the delightful attentions that you have shown me over the past few weeks,” he said, and his voice sounded like an overly smarmy freight train crashing through her head. “I’m sure you’ll forgive me for taking the opportunity to repay your kind hospitality.”

“Won’t get away with this,” she whispered, closing her eyes again. The movement of the car was making her stomach lurch.

“Quite the contrary, Emma,” Hook said, as charming as if they were discussing the weather. “We are quite a ways away from your precious jail cells, which to me implies that we have in fact gotten away with it. Seeing as how we are away. Physically and all.”

“Shut up, you asshole,” she muttered, pressing her face into the plastic seat cover. 

“Captain, is it really a good idea to antagonise her?”

The new voice confused her for a moment, and she lifted her head again, squinting against her aching head. Hook was in the front passenger seat, not the driver’s seat, which made sense- of course he wouldn’t have any experience with driving a car. Which meant that the driver was his accomplice, the person who had attacked her back at the jail?

Her brain ticked over, trying to put two and two together. “… you’re that homeless guy, aren’t you?” she said, wincing at her slurred speech.

Hook chortled from the front seat. “Oh my, you did do well for yourself, didn’t you William?” He sighed in amusement. “No wonder you smell like the bad end of Cheapside on a hot day.”

“Where are you taking me?” Emma rasped, aware enough now that she could feel the handcuffs cutting into her flesh. 

“And ruin the surprise?” She heard the sound of leather squeaking against leather, and looked up to see Hook staring down at her, his eyes glittering in the dim light of the car. “That’s hardly polite, now, is it? Where’s your sense of adventure, Miss Swan?”

She swallowed uncomfortably, her mouth dry. “Maybe I left it back on the floor of my office,” she said pointedly.

He chuckled. “I suggest you find a new one then, sweetheart.” His smile was positively predatory. “Because you aren’t going to have a chance to go back and fetch it any time soon.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written after 2.07

She tried to wriggle without drawing Hook’s attention to what she was doing. Thankfully the car was dark, and wherever the hell they were, there sure weren’t any street lights. The constant jolting of the car seemed to back up the theory that they weren’t just cruising around on Main Street; it was hard to tell while lying face first against the vinyl seat covers, but she could have sworn they were going slightly uphill.

Into the woods? If that didn’t sound like the beginning of some god awful day time horror movie- _or a fairy tale_ , her brain piped up cheerily- then she’d eat her jacket.

But facts rarely lied, and from the angle of the car they were definitely bouncing uphill, on a less than sturdy road. Well, the forest was good enough to make an escape as anywhere, and at least she wouldn’t want for places to hide amongst the trees.

She was too tall for the back seat, and her knees were bent and pressed up against the side of the car. She grimaced, ignoring her pounding head as she tried to wriggle enough to get her feet down so that she could try to sit up. There was no way in hell she’d be able to wriggle past them to get to one of the doors, but the lock on the hatch was faulty; she’d been meaning to fix it for months now, and was suddenly thoroughly grateful that she hadn’t.

It would be almost impossible with her hands cuffed together, but if she could maybe twist about and kick at the hatch, it might be enough to pop the lock, and then she’d just have to get more than a single leg over the seat, all while handcuffed, with Hook and Smee now fully aware of what she was doing and attempting to stop her, and-

She groaned. Not worth it. There were far too many _ifs_ and _maybes_ in a plan like that, and she had a splitting headache and the handicap of the handcuffs. Hook would be on her in seconds.

She was abruptly thankful for the darkness and the fact that she was face down on the seat, because at the completely innocent thought of Hook being _on_ her, her brain of course ran away with the suggestion. If her face was any hotter right now, she probably would have melted the vinyl seat covers.

“Where the hell are you taking me?” she asked, hoping that her voice gave utterly no indication to her lecherous thoughts.

“So impatient!” Hook drawled, draping an arm over the chair as he leaned back comfortably. He looked perfectly within his element, as at ease as if he were standing at the prow of his stupid boat and not wedged into the front seat of her ancient Beetle. “I daresay you left your manners on the floor along with your sense of adventure, my dear, because I’ve heard nothing but complaints from you since the moment you crawled back to consciousness.”

“Imagine that,” she grumbled, awkwardly manoeuvring her legs until she could swing herself around and half sit up. Her head swam and her stomach protested; she held her breath and waited for it to pass. When she looked up, a set of dark eyes were staring back. 

“Comfortable, Miss Swan?”

“Oh, _very_ ,” she said caustically, wincing as the car jolted her about. She didn’t make a habit of sitting in the back seat all that often- clearly she needed to invest in better suspension. “Just curious as to what the hell it is you think you’re doing making off with the Sheriff.”

“A gentleman never kidnaps and tells,” he said smoothly, and she could have sworn he winked at her. “But I’m hardly likely to pass up the opportunity to make your life just as uncomfortable as you’ve made mine, now, am I?” 

She slumped back into the seat, staring up at the roof and muttering “Asshole.”

She heard him chuckle, and when she glanced back again, he wasn’t looking at her anymore.

This really wasn’t how she’d wanted to spend her evening; how long would it take before someone even noticed she was gone? Mary Margaret and David had set up house in David’s home, leaving Emma and Henry the apartment to share. But Henry had vanished several days ago with Regina, and by all accounts had gone willingly- three people had seen them getting into the car together, and Henry himself had left a rather cheerful, if cryptic, note on his pillow about going on a treasure quest. It was unlikely that Mary Margaret would interrupt her this late, so it was likely that her absence wouldn’t even be reported until sometime tomorrow morning.

And in the meantime she was trapped with a charming but ruthless pirate captain whom she had personally wronged at least twice (more if he was the type to hold grudges) and his sycophantic crony. Not good odds in her favour.

She could cooperate and try to escape when they let her out of the car. She could cooperate and keep quiet and see exactly what it was they were planning, because it didn’t really sit well with her to have a murderous pirate running free and unsupervised through town with vengeance on his mind. If Gold thought to use innocents as a shield, would Hook hold back, or would he count them as justifiable losses? She wanted to think the best of him, that he was at heart a good man despite his anarchistic lifestyle, but if she was wrong she would have lives on her conscience. 

She couldn’t afford to take that risk. 

She nearly kicked at the back of his seat out of some childish sense of frustration and bit it back. This was all even assuming he was going to keep her alive, and not just off her in the woods, with no one around as a witness. She gritted her teeth, and told herself not to be so melodramatic. Her head was killing her, and she reached up awkwardly with both hands to see what the damage was from whatever had clocked her across the head. 

Her fingers brushed not against sticky skin, but against the familiar fabric of a Band-Aid. Startled, she ran her hand over the area more thoroughly, wincing when she prodded too hard. A decent sized square covered her temple, all the way up to her hair line. She sniffed at her fingertips, and caught the faint whiff of antiseptic. 

_What on earth?_

She glanced up at the front seat, to Hook in particular. He was staring forward, out into the dark forest, and was at enough of an angle that he was in profile. There was a pensive look in his eyes, the shadows exaggerated by the kohl lining them. There was no way he could have done that one-handed, which meant he’d had his crony do it. 

_He tended to your hand one-handed when you hurt it on the beanstalk_ , she reminded herself, shivering at the memory of the look in his eyes as he tied off the end of the dressing with his mouth. _No reason he couldn’t have done this too._

_I’m always a gentleman, Miss Swan,_ he’d murmured at the time, as his mouth came close enough to her skin for her to feel the warmth of his breath.

He was clever with his mouth. That was a little tid-bit to store away for another time. 

She was grateful for the second time in ten minutes that the car was dark enough to hide her red face. The last thing she needed was for Hook to know she was blushing like a schoolgirl over a crush; she was a grown ass woman, and she wasn’t going to let some smug pirate know he made her hot under the collar. 

Not that he did. 

Nope. 

Not one bit.

She bit her lip and stared fiercely out the opposite side window. Then she didn’t have to see his stupidly attractive face. 

They drove in silence for a few minutes, bumping over the uneven road. The rain was still coming down, and the windscreen wipers were working overtime to keep the glass clear, whining at the extended strain. She couldn’t see any landmarks to work out where the hell they were going, but she was lucky to see a few feet beyond the car at all. While they drove she toyed with the handcuffs, annoyed at herself for not having put her hair up that day. What she would have given for a hairpin right now…

The headlights suddenly stopped illuminating trees, as the forest pulled back and an open space yawned open in front of them. Emma sat forward, looking around as discretely as possible for a clue as to their location. The lights bounced against the walls of a roughhewn wooden cottage for a moment, the building as dark as the surrounding forest. 

The car pulled to a stop and Hook’s crony- William?- killed the headlights and attempted to get the gear into park. Emma winced at the crunch of the gears, but didn’t stop scanning the area. It was ridiculously hard to make out details through the rain, but she felt her nerves go on high alert, the sixth sense that told her something was very wrong. 

“You’re sure this is safe?” Hook said, sitting forward in his seat and staring out through the murk towards the cottage.

“Absolutely, Captain,” William said, jerking on the handbrake. “We’re a good ways from town, and nobody much comes up this way most of the time anyway.”

Hook was quiet for a moment, considering, before nodding stiffly. “Excellent then, Mr Smee,” he said. “Let’s make ourselves at home then.”

They both opened their doors, and a gust of chilly air filled the car. Emma shivered, but not from the cold; something felt so utterly amiss that the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She felt like her head was going to twist off from trying to look in all directions at once. 

The chair in front of her creaked and then slid forward on the runner; Hook was in front of her before she could blink, his hand rather ungently around her upper arm. “Come along then, Princess,” he said, brandishing his hook as he dragged her from the car. “I’d like to get in out of the rain.”

She stumbled as she tried to get out in a hurry, falling a little against Hook. He chuckled as he righted her. “Easy there, darling, if you fancied a feel all you needed to do was ask.”

“I don’t want to _feel_ you,” she snapped, finding her balance again. She looked through the rain to the cottage and her instincts screamed at her. 

“Captain, we should really get in out of the rain,” Smee said, putting his hand on Hook’s elbow. The action seemed over eager, and Emma frowned at him.

It pinged suddenly, in a moment of crystal clarity. “He’s working for Gold,” Emma said, staring at Smee. “Gold is inside.”

Hook’s head snapped around so fast it was a surprise she didn’t hear the crack. “ _What?_ ”

Smee scoffed, but the truth reeked from him. “That’s a lie, Captain, as if I would-”

“No one knows where Gold is,” Emma continued, pointing accusingly. It was an awkward manoeuvre with her hands cuffed. “Not even Belle could tell us. Why would he tell you that there’s no chance of Gold finding us, if we don’t even know where he is? Unless he does know where he is. Unless he’s brought us right to his cottage.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Smee said, throwing his hands up in disgust. “Captain, I can muzzle her if you’d-”

“I’ve been here before!” Emma shouted, interrupting him again. “I’ve been here before to arrest Gold, when he _kidnapped_ and _assaulted_ a man. This is his cottage, or at least one that he’s used in the past, and-”

Hook held his hook up, staring at Emma; she took it as a sign for silence and shut up immediately. “You’ve told me to my face that you work for Gold, sweetheart,” he said, his head tilted slightly to the side as he considered her. “So why should I believe you?”

“I’ve told you that I owe him a favour,” she said. “Different story entirely. And remember what I told you in the other realm. About lying.”

He laughed softly, but there was no humour in his eyes. The rain running down his face only made him look more sinister. “Aye, darling, I remember. I also remember you chaining me in a monster’s lair because you couldn’t risk being wrong, so clearly you don’t trust your little gift. Why should I?”

She swallowed uncomfortably. “Can you risk being wrong about me?”

Hook glanced from her to Smee and back again, and then again. He exhaled noisily, nostrils flaring. “One of you is lying to me,” he said, shaking his hook slowly at them. “I just have to work out who.”

“Captain, you have to believe me, I would never betray you,” Smee said, sounding incredulous that Hook would even consider such a possibility. “I’ve done nothing but aid you since-”

“Since what?” Hook said angrily, rounding on him. “For all of a few hours? What is this place, Smee? Is she telling the truth?” 

“Unfortunately for you, laddie, she is.” At the familiar voice Emma winced and Hook spun towards the door, a snarl wrenched from his lips. The cottage was dark, but there was enough light spilling from the interior of the car to make out the figure standing in the doorway, cane in hand. 

“Trust a crocodile to be lurking in dark waters,” Hook hissed, reaching for a sword that wasn’t at his waist. His curse rang out in the darkness. “You afraid to face me on even ground, cur?”

“Now that’s hardly polite,” Gold said, stepping out onto the porch. “After I went to all the trouble of seeing that you made it out of that cell and inviting you up to my humble abode.”

“I’d sooner accept an invitation from a shark.”

“I daresay you have on occasion,” Gold said, sauntering closer still. “You’ve been dealing with one this very evening, after all.”

Smee had been in the process of shuffling as far away from the conflict as possible, but he froze when it was clear Gold had meant him. He looked slowly back over his shoulder at them, an agonized expression on his face. “I’m sorry, Captain,” he said, “but he found me first. Offered me a life again. I couldn’t take it anymore, living alone, living on the street, and he-”

Hook stabbed his namesake in his direction. “You turned your back on a shipmate, Smee,” he said coldly. “There’s no hope for you now.”

Smee looked crestfallen, but kept quiet.

Mr Gold tsked loudly. “What a terrible misfortune this is,” he said. “Meeting again in such unpleasant circumstances; and here I was hoping that we could all sit down and have a pleasant _chat_.”

The way he drawled over the word chat sent an unpleasant shiver down Emma’s spine. Inching forward as surreptitiously as possible, until she was even with Hook, she called out “I think, maybe, we should all just take a moment, maybe get out of the rain-” 

“Need I remind you that you owe me a favour, Miss Swan?” he interrupted, swinging the cane flamboyantly in her direction. “I’m well within my rights to ask you to step aside right now and let me finish my business with Mr Jones.”

“That’s _Captain_ , you cowardly dog!” Hook snarled, lunging forward. Emma only just managed to keep him behind her with difficulty, wrestling with him and stomping on his foot to get him to hold still.

“You’re not making this easier, Killian!”

The name slipped out without a thought, and she knew almost as it passed her lips that it was a mistake.

“ _Don’t call me that!_ ” His snarl was so venomous that she almost staggered back a step, but managed to keep her footing. He pushed at her and she pushed straight back. 

“Stay behind me, you asshole!”

On the porch, Gold cackled with glee. “Oh, does our dear pirate king have trouble with his own name? Does it bring naught but pain to hear another woman speak the name once whispered by a loved one?”

“ _I’ll kill you!_ ” Hook roared, shoving at Emma; she could feel her heels digging up mud as she fought to keep him from lunging at Gold.

“And I grow bored of you,” Gold snapped, his candour vanishing like smoke. “I should have killed you years ago, because now you’re nothing but a nuisance. A thorn in my side, if you will. And like any thorn, I’m going to remove you.”

It was dark, but no so dark that Emma couldn’t make out the familiar shape of a gun.

“Holy hell.” She slammed her shoulder into Hook, sending them both sprawling to the ground just as the gunshot echoed through the forest. “Jesus, Gold! Put the freaking gun away!”

“This doesn’t concern you, Miss Swan!” His voice held that sing song element again, as merry as if they were discussing the weather. “I’d suggest you do your best to stay out of the way!”

“Move!” she snapped, grabbing Hook awkwardly and forcing him to roll out of the way of another two shots- one came close enough that she could have sworn she felt it zip through her hair. She _oomphed_ uncomfortably as they smashed up against the wheel of the car, the handcuffs and his hook pressed painfully into her stomach when she landed atop him.

Hook’s eyes were shining almost rabidly. “Let go of me, Swan!” he snarled, shoving her off. 

“Not happening,” she said, wrenching him backwards, a tangle of limbs as they flailed through the mud.

He shoved at her yet again, but she managed to get her cuffed hands around him- an effective snare. “I need to kill him!”

“He’s got a freaking gun!” As if to emphasis her point, one of the windows of her car shattered, showering them with glass. “I’m assuming you’re at least familiar with some kind of flintlock or whatever those old pistols are called, and these ones are even worse! If you try to confront him, you’ll lose more than a hand, you’ll lose your _life!_ ”

“Your faith in me astounds me.”

“This isn’t a question of how good you are or aren’t!”

Gold giggled hysterically, far too close for her liking. “Come out, come out, little cabin boy! The big bad wolf is hungry!”

Emma spat rainwater out of her mouth, wishing she had a free hand to wipe her face as well. “You go out there now, you’re going to die. You run, we can fight another time-”

“We?”

Another shot landed, the wheel of the car hissing as the air escaped.

“Just run!” She pushed him, and for whatever reason he actually listened, and the two of them sprinted into the tree line, shots ringing at their heels.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written after 2.07 but hand to heart I swear I wrote most of it before I saw the previews for 2.08 and saw Killian in the rain. Although seeing those scenes did make me shriek and dance happily.

Running through the forest at night was never the most sensible idea, but Emma was thoroughly out of sensible ideas. As she lurched through the darkness, wincing at every wet fern that smacked her in the face, she just desperately hoped that she wasn’t going to break her leg in a rabbit hole. As it was they stumbled and cursed as they fled down the slope and into the forest, and there was one terrifying moment when the tree just in front of her exploded, chips and splinters of wood flying everywhere as the sound of a gunshot rang out.

She swore and ducked, but the ground was muddy and slippery, and her foot landed badly. It skidded out under her, and with her hands cuffed together she couldn’t flail about for balance.

Her stomach dropped into her shoes, and she felt a ripple of horror as she realised she was about to go careening down the hill; but Hook was there, crashing into her. His hand went around her elbow, and he pulled her back against him, but her momentum carried them both to the ground, skidding and sliding down the muddy slope together in a cursing tangle of limbs and leather. Branches ripped at them, stones dug at them, and their heads banged together more than once, her forehead smacking into his chin.

Hook grunted in pain when they slammed up against a log, hissing when she tried to shove off him. “This would be a lot easier if you’d just let me kill him,” he snapped as he pushed her away, wincing as he used the tree to lever to his feet.

“And this would be a lot easier _again_ if you hadn’t cuffed me,” she snarled back, staggering to her feet with all the grace of a drunk puppy. Her head was spinning, and when she slipped a little he grabbed hold of her almost instantly to stop her from falling. But the moment she was stable he ripped his hand away as if it burnt him to touch her.

“ _Where are you, little pirate king?_ ”

The voice was eerie, slightly mad and not quite human. It echoed down the hill from the cottage, followed by maniacal laughter. She could see now why he was called the Dark One, why her parents feared him as much as they respected him.

“ _Run_ ,” she snarled, shoving her shoulder into him.

They sprinted through the dark, slipping and swearing, until by some unspoken accord they began to slow, glancing over their shoulders through the rain and back up the hill. They staggered to a stop, staring at each other, panting heavily. They could no longer hear the crazed laughter ringing through the night, and the only sounds were the gentle patter of the raindrops over the ferns, and their desperate panting as they struggled to regain their breath.

“Killian,” she began, but she didn’t get any further.

Hook’s face twisted in a riot of seething hatred and anger, and he spun away from her, shouting wordlessly as he kicked at an ancient fallen log. It crumbled beneath his foot, little more than a mossy shell, and he kept kicking at it as if he hoped it were Gold’s face.

“Well, Christ, why don’t we send up a flare while we’re at it,” she said sarcastically. “You know, in case they are having trouble finding us, since we’re being so quiet and everything.”

He bellowed as the log collapsed into soggy shards, rounding on her with such fury in his eyes that he looked wild from it. 

“I could have had him!” Hook roared, scrubbing at his face in frustration; the rain had stopped for now, but his hair was wet enough to cling to his forehead.

“ _Bullshit_ you could have had him!” she shouted, refusing to let him cow her. “Do you have a freaking _death wish?_ ”

“What I wish for is none of your business Miss Swan!”

“It’s every bit of my business!” She stabbed her hands into his chest, frustrated beyond measure that she had the wretched handcuffs to deal with. Her hands slipped a little on his leather coat. “You made it my business when you tried to trick me in the Enchanted Realm, and again when you followed me here, and when you _knocked me unconscious_ and dragged me into the freaking forest with you!”

“And you ensured my wrath, Miss Swan, when you chose not to trust me and threatened me with death by ogre _and_ by giant, instead of following your precious _instincts_ and treating me with a little common decency!"

“You have no right to lecture me, I was trying to get back to my son-”

He snatched at her hands when she tried to pull them away. “Oh, so we’re playing ‘ _my family is more important than your family_ ’ again, are we?” he snarled, his hand so tight on her wrist that she winced. He noticed, and something darkened in his eyes. “What’s the matter, _Emma_ ,” he hissed, leaning in close, stroking the side of her face with the curve of the hook, “don’t like having me touch you?” 

She stomped down hard on his foot, and he howled in pain and jumped away from her. She slipped a little on the ground and went down to one knee. “I don’t like anyone touching me without my permission, _Killian_ ,” she snarled back, staggering upright again. “Especially not someone so determined to be an asshole about it.”

He cast her a filthy look. “You’re playing with fire, Miss Swan.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh what a relief, the warmth will be a welcome change from standing around in the _rain_ at _midnight_.”

Silence fell but for the gentle patter of the rain, the insults hanging awkwardly in the air between them. Emma counted to ten, waiting until she was sure her anger was under control before saying “Well, we can’t just stand around in the dark waiting for Gold to come and murder you-”

Hook hissed angrily.

“-so I suggest we get moving,” she finished, rolling her eyes at his dramatic response. “Unless you really do want to follow through with your death wish, in which case it’d be really nice if you could uncuff me before you traipse off to die as the wounded lover.”

“If I’d brought the key, you can be sure I’d have you uncuffed and on your way immediately,” he snarled, pushing past her and setting off down the hill again. After a moment of jaw clenching from the sheer frustration of it all, she followed him. “As it stands, our dear William has it safely tucked away in his pocket. So I apologise, sweetheart, but you’re stuck with me for a while longer.”

The nickname made her grit her teeth, and she realised that when he’d been angriest, he’d stopped using them. He used them to control her, to keep her unbalanced- but when she unbalanced _him_ , rubbed him raw enough, the pretences fell away. 

The silence between them was charged with anger, and she debated whether to say anything. But what the hell, she didn’t even know where they were going, so they were going to start arguing again at some point. Might as well start it on her own terms. “You can’t live your life for revenge, Killian.”

“You can’t tell me how to live my life,” he snapped, but then barked out an angry laugh. “Bloody hell, and now you’ve got me whining at you like a moody lad. Needless to say, darling, you’ve got no claim on my time, and I’ve no reason to listen to your advice. So I’ll kindly thank you to shut up.”

“Oh, so you have a plan?” she asked, knowing she was pushing him. She hurried to catch up to him, doing her best not to slip on the treacherous ground. “You have some marvellous scheme that’s going to get us somewhere warm and dry, somewhere that Gold won’t find us in a hurry, somewhere that we can get out of the rain and maybe just think about how _stupid it is_ to be running through a forest in the dark when there is a _maniac with a gun behind us?_ ”

He stopped so abruptly that she barrelled into him. “I said, shut up, Swan,” he said coldly.

“Mm, no, I don’t think I’m going to,” she said sardonically. “You see, you think I don’t have any claim on your time, but you don’t really get a say on what I do with _my time_ either. And at the moment, you’re responsible for dragging me into this mess, when really I had quite enough messes to clean up as it is, so I’m not really super interested in shutting up right now.”

He turned to face her slowly, a smile on his face. The warmth didn’t reach his eyes, though, and the shadows of the forest just made his expression darker, sharper, more threatening. “You might notice, Miss Swan, that there is nothing to stop you from marching off in the other direction and washing your hands of me,” he said softly, smiling broadly as he stepped in closer. “Just as there is nothing to stop me from marching off in the other direction and washing my hands of _you_.”

“Do it then,” she said, just as softly, just as coldly, wanting to sound like she didn’t have a care at all at the thought of him sprinting back to his doom. “Go back to Gold, and face him alone, and die in the mud in the forest, forgotten-”

He snarled, and had his hand in the front of her jacket a moment later, dragging her close. “Does it amuse you, does it?” he snapped. “Does it make you laugh, to see me so off kilter in this wretched world of yours? Are you chuckling to yourself, waiting for me to become just another one of your puppets, just another starry eyed minion enamoured with the precious Princess Emma?”

She didn’t go for his foot this time; she got her foot around his knee and kicked, sending him tumbling to the ground. But he had too good a hold of her, and despite her best efforts to keep her balance she went down with him, _oomphing_ in pain when the edge of the cuffs dug into her rib. She heard him grunt in pain, and went to apologise for the cuffs. 

But of course she wouldn’t even be wearing the cuffs if it wasn’t for him. 

“Nice going, now we’re _both_ going to die of hypothermia from rolling in the mud.” She tried to push away from him, but he still had a hold of her wretched coat. And it was sort of impossible to ignore how warm he was, compared to how cold she was, and how she was sort of lying across him in a rather intimate position. Sort of way more intimate than she’d been with anyone in, well, a long time.

“My apologies, next time I’ll just let you beat me merciless and leave me to rot on the forest floor while you run to fetch Gold.” He bared his teeth at her, an approximation of a grin that just sent shivers down her spine instead. “Sorry darling, that won’t fly with me.”

“I don’t work for Gold!” she snapped, shoving at his chest; he responded by wrapping his hand around her wrist again, and snaring the chain between the cuffs with the tip of his hook. “You’re a one-minded asshole.”

Wow, his hand was a great deal warmer than she’d been expecting. Sort of, sizzling sparks warmer. Kind of like the moment they’d shared at the top of the beanstalk.

“And you’re a tempestuous wench who seems to think it’s her business to control everyone else’s business,” he quipped back.

It was the strangest thing, but she knew right then that she was going to do something stupid. They both sort of hung there for a moment, the silence of the forest swallowing them up, alone in the dark together. She saw something shift in his eyes, which were a lot closer than she remembered them being a few moments ago.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, the fire gone from his voice.

“It’s the cold,” she whispered, which was a fairly honest response.

Mostly. It was only sort of a lie.

And she didn’t know whether he reached up to her, or whether she bent down to him, or whether it was both of them meeting in the middle, but suddenly she could feel his breath on her mouth, the warmth of it almost burning her, and her eyes met his in that last little moment of hesitation.

There was a tiny flicker of uncertainty, a moment of vulnerability that she wasn’t expecting from him. 

“You’re an idiot,” she whispered.

“So are you,” he whispered back.

And then he kissed her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written after 2.08
> 
> I'm probably going to try and wrap this up during the winter break, seeing as we have over a month between episodes.

Killian Jones liked to think of himself as a practical man, if somewhat obsessive. A life at sea tended to do that to a person, entrench in you the need for practicality for the sake of survival, while your mind wandered free to distant and exotic shores. Those traits had only amplified in the years since Milah’s death, as everything nonessential had been discarded in his fanatical pursuit for the means to exact his revenge. 

His every action had been dedicated to driving him towards vengeance, while his every thought dwelt on his violent hatred for the man who had so callously destroyed his life. 

Practicality and obsessiveness: the life of a pirate. He didn’t have the luxury of allowing something to distract him.

Which made his current circumstances, lying on the forest floor in the rain and kissing Miss Emma Swan, something of a mystery. There was nothing about this that wasn’t a distraction from his quest, because as much as he appreciated a fine woman- and he hadn’t exactly lived the life of a monk since Milah’s death either- Emma Swan was precisely the wrong woman to indulge in for so many reasons. 

For one, he didn’t know if he could trust her. Despite the fact that Rumplestiltskin hadn’t discriminated between the two of them in the darkness, shooting at both of them with liberal abandon, there was the rather infuriating fact that she was in his pocket in some capacity, a crime that he had no intention of forgiving any time soon. 

Secondly, she sure as hell didn’t trust him; which would have been fine, normally, he didn’t look for trust as a prerequisite in his bedmates. But she had good reasons not to trust him, most of which she wasn’t even privy to, and for some wretchedly stupid reason it felt significant that he not abuse her trust. Which was ridiculous, of course, because she had done nothing but abuse his trust of her since the word go-

_Liar_ , whispered a familiar voice in his head, _you simply underestimated her_.

And there was the final and most disconcerting detail of all- that being that he found himself more than a little intrigued by her. That made her more than a distraction. That made her outright dangerous. 

Which was all well and good but he still couldn’t seem to stop himself from kissing her. 

She wasn’t timid, and he liked that. There was no moment of surprise or shock where she tried to pull away or tried to fight the appeal of what was beginning to spark between them. He may have kissed her, but she was kissing him right back.

Cinnamon; she bloody well tasted of cinnamon and sugar. Wishful thinking on his part, of course, because he knew she’d gone to the diner just before he’d kidnapped her. It was probably just the subtle reminder of her drink, but damn if it didn’t make him want to peel back her clothes and see what she tasted like everywhere.

Familiar female laughter rang through his head. _Sugar and spice and all things nice?_

He must have made a noise of some kind of displeasure, or tensed, because she pulled away slightly, pushing herself up with her hands in the centre of his chest.

“Sorry I bored you,” she started, somewhat breathlessly, but he cut her off.

“Can’t stop you from sassing me even when you’ve got your tongue in my mouth,” he said, rolling her quickly so that she was the unlucky one with her back pressed into the mud. “Most women would be grateful just for the experience.”

She rolled her eyes at him, and there was something so comfortingly predictable about it. Emma Swan, lying in the cold rain at midnight with a pirate on top of her, rolling her eyes as if she was simply mildly put out instead of angry- there were very few women in any of the realms who would accept the events of the evening with such aplomb. “Wow, of course I’d be lucky enough to get another misogynistic asshole.”

That comment threw him for a moment. “Another-?”

It was her turn to cut him off. “Not interested in explaining it right now,” she said, fisting her hands in his jacket and pulling him down to kiss again.

Emma Swan was a damned fine kisser. 

He could taste the cinnamon on her, and despite the cold of the rain soaking into both of them, the heat of her seemed likely to burn him. Her fingers were splayed against his chest, brushing at the skin at the base of his neck- he wondered what it would feel like if she were to run her tongue into that little dip there and shivered at the thought- and she kissed with all the fire and anger and passion that she wielded when she fought with him. 

When she gasped for air it gave him the opportunity to kiss along the edge of her chin, her skin refreshingly cold against his lips. “Interested in explaining now, sweetheart?” he murmured, shifting his weight as surreptitiously as possible so that his leg was sort of resting in a not so subtle way between hers. 

“Nope,” she panted, a soft moan escaping from her.

He chuckled softly. “Insufferable wench,” he whispered against her skin.

“Egotistical asshole,” she snapped instantly, and he glanced up at her. For a moment their eyes met, and he couldn’t tell if that spark was anger or arousal or something else-

There was no something else, he told himself ruthlessly. He had no heart to feel it with- his heart had died with Milah.

“You’ve a mouth on you, darling,” he snapped back.

She started to sit up. “Funny how you’ve only just noticed- was it before or after you stuck your tongue in it that it became most obvious?”

He wasn’t sure who did the kissing after that- whether he kissed her, or whether she kissed him. Certainly her hand was still tight in the front of his jacket, keeping him pinned close; but his hand was on her hip, and it’d certainly seemed like a good idea to keep her from pitching more stinging remarks at him. 

The obvious thing to do here would be to seduce her, woo her so that her suspicions relaxed and she began to trust him. He could use her against Rumplestiltskin, and use the resources at her disposal as both sheriff and as the town’s precious chosen one. It was the smartest thing to do, the most sensible. She was clearly susceptible to his charms-

_Of course she is. She’s not blind._

-and that could only work in his favour. All he had to do was charm her into betraying the secrets of The Dark One, convince her of his love and devotion for her…

An idea which of course he discarded straight away; Emma Swan was many things, but she wasn’t an idiot. She’d see straight through an attempt like that in seconds. This left him with very few options, one of which he’d been trying very much not to think about.

He had his hand on her hip, and he ran it slowly up her side, allowing himself the luxury of admiring the curves even as his mind surged down dark paths. His other arm was propped in the muddy earth beside her head, the hook half tangled in her glorious hair. Thoughts of her hair spread out over silken sheets instead of tousled in the mud suddenly distracted him; it would be like molten gold in the light of the candles, he was sure, and the flush in her cheeks would not be the only place touched by colour.

He pushed back at those thoughts with difficulty, but they were hard to deny now that he’d acknowledged them. Emma would be a generous lover, he was certain, and he’d never been one to deny himself an indulgence before.

She shifted beneath him, fingers dancing along his collarbone. For a moment his head went light, and his task went completely out of his mind. With the utmost difficulty, he ran his hand higher still, until he had it between them, somewhat over her breast- enough to make him shiver- but with his thumb over her wrist so that he could feel her pulse. 

He lifted his hook and ran the curved edge gently along the side of her face; a test, of sorts.

She didn’t flinch at the touch of cold steel, and his estimation of her went up yet again. Her heart was hammering, the pulse beneath his fingers thrumming madly. It made the more primitive half of his brain crow in delight, that she would respond so beautifully to his seductions. Her heart was right there, beneath his hand, singing for him and him alone in that moment.

_It would be so easy…_

He had known for several decades now that his life had one purpose and one purpose alone: to hunt down the demon responsible for the death of his Milah and for the loss of his hand. That meant sacrifices. That meant travelling dark paths he hadn’t ever planned on travelling, doing things that would drive more noble men to despair and madness. It meant dark magic, soul crushing bargains with purveyors of sorcery and power the likes of which mortals dared not dream of. It meant abandoning himself to everything but the pursuit of revenge. 

And here was his chance to remove one of the final obstacles in his path. Take Emma’s heart and she would be powerless to refuse him; she would acquiesce to his every demand.

_Silken sheets and flickering candles-_

Her pulse hammered wildly and she gasped a little when he bit softly at her lip. Her heart was right there; he had her at his mercy. Every small humiliation he’d suffered at her hands could be returned upon her tenfold. Every moment that she had impeded his path to victory would be an hour she spent entertaining his whims. 

Her heart was right there.

_What are you waiting for?_

There was a crunch and a sudden sharp pain around his neck, and then both of Emma’s hands- now fists- went surging upwards to his chin. She jerked her head backwards at the last moment, breaking the kiss, and punched him in the jaw. 

The attack was unexpected, and fiercely painful; for a moment his vision went black and his head spun so wildly that he thought he might throw up. Emma shoved at him, worming her way out from under him- and she wasn’t kind with where she kicked her feet either- and then he was lying alone in the mud, clutching at his head and begging his stomach to stop heaving so violently. 

There was a metallic clunking sound, and Emma cursed so colourfully that it would have done any sailor proud. He managed to crack open an eye in time to see her handcuffs click open, and she tossed them into the bushes some distance away.

“What…?” He didn’t get any farther than that, as she rounded on him angrily.

“You think I’m stupid enough that you can sedate me with a kiss?” she snarled, smart enough not to come close enough for him to grab her ankles. She was flexing her hands at her sides, and he didn’t know whether she was letting the blood flow back after the cuffs had cut into them so badly, or if she was resisting the urge to punch him. He was tempted to find out, even after experiencing her strength once already. “News flash, buddy, I wasn’t born yesterday, and this isn’t my first time dealing with an egomaniacal asshole.”

“You keep saying that, sweetheart, and yet you don’t seem all that keen on talking about it.” He rolled to his back and let the rain patter down on his face, soothing the burning point of impact. His lips were still tingling too, from the kiss. He closed his eyes and tried not to let the bitter, angry disappointment take over him. “So, what now? You’re some seductive, super powerful princess with the fantastic ability to break free of handcuffs without a key-”

“It’s not my first time in handcuffs either, and your skull necklace came in handy.”

“Fascinating.” Really it was anything but fascinating, but what else did one say to a violent, sexy woman that one had irrevocably annoyed? “You’ll have to show me how to do that sometime.”

“I don’t have to show you anything, hot stuff. As if I need you getting me into more trouble.”

Milah. She reminded him of Milah: the fierce and aggravating wench who had stolen his heart right out from under him all those years ago. He’d never had any intention of taking her along- a woman on a ship caused all kinds of problems, superstitions involved or not- but the fire she’d shown when she’d informed him she was coming along had impressed him. She didn’t beg to be taken on an adventure, oh no- that wasn’t his Milah. She’d simply sauntered aboard and told him that she was a part of the crew and he’d best get used to it. 

That same fire was in Emma’s heart. The heart he couldn’t take, no matter how badly he wanted to. 

He sighed irritably. “Why are you so determined to stop me?” he asked, directing his question at the sky rather than at her. He didn’t think he could stand to look at her right now. “You claim you aren’t one of his minions, and yet all you’ve done since I’ve met you is go out of your way to humiliate and thwart me.”

“Gee, why would I want to stop someone who wanted to murder someone else? I don’t know, maybe it’s just because I’m a decent person?”

“This has nothing to do with decency, Emma, and you can’t-”

“Revenge won’t bring her back!” Her shout rang out through the silence of the forest, and for a moment she seemed as stunned as he was. He turned to look at her, and there was pain in her eyes again, but the sadness didn’t seem personal, it seemed more like-

_-pity._

“You have to let it go, Killian,” she said, but he wasn’t interested. Of all the useless, humiliating things she could have done to him, the worst thing she could have done was pitied him. Pity was for broken old men, mourning their glory days and the lives they would never regain. Pity was for damaged, ruined people, with no more hope in their lives and no chance at redemption.

One did not simply _pity_ Captain Killian Jones.

“But revenge will see her spirit sleep a little easier, Miss Swan,” he snarled, climbing to his feet once again. “And that’s _Captain_ to you- there’s few I allow the liberty of calling me Killian, and you’ve not earned a place among their ranks yet.”

She raised her chin defiantly, but the pain didn’t leave her eyes. There may have been tears there; it may have just been the rain. “Revenge will get you nothing but an early death,” she said bitterly. “Because I don’t know if I can stop Gold from killing you.”

“Well on that point, Miss Swan, we shall have to agree to disagree.” He sketched a shallow bow to her, ostentatious enough to be insulting even to her uneducated standards, and turned his back on her. “I’ll ask you not to get in my way again, because I don’t know if I’ll be in a kindly enough mood to sedate you fluttering heart with kisses a second time.”

“This is nothing more than a selfish, suicidal descent into madness, and I _will_ stop you.”

He didn’t answer her; he didn’t know if he trusted himself to answer her. But he walked off into the darkness, and left her there. 

And didn’t think at all about the hint of cinnamon still lingering on his lips.

There was only vengeance. Nothing else.


End file.
